The Ugly Darkness Gapes
by Nienna100
Summary: The obligatory kidnap fic. Aragorn is taken by orcs and tortured. Broken blinded bottom!Aragorn, top!Legolas. Could be a oneshot, could be a hurt/comfort multi-chapter. Please pay attention to the many warnings. Non-con, rape etc
1. Chapter 1

**The Ugly Darkness Gapes**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**A/N: Being of bored state of mind, this fic came to me. That my thoughts can drift to this in moments of silence disturbs me also.**

**Warnings: Dark!fic, kidnap, torture, non-con, slash**

I will never forget that night – it will never cease to be my biggest regret, however selfish that may be. It was raining, great sheets of water falling from the sky, in land unknown to me. I was just passing through, intent on delivering a message to a lesser King of the South. The message was never to get there. Desperate for shelter, my relief was palpable that I had discovered a cave. My poor shivering nag and I entered, unaware and uninformed of the tales of these parts, merely grateful to be out of the lashing rain, I was able to relieve her of my bags and change into dry clothes.

I struggled to light a fire, but it was done, and in the delicious heat emanating from the flames, my eyes grew heavy. Thinking myself safe, in all the foolish overconfidence of youth, I relaxed my guard and allowed sleep to take me, intending to wake at grey dawn, the world crisp and bright, smelling new after the downpour. I thought I would ride out to birdsong and sunshine, and it would be a beautiful day to be alive and a Ranger, free as the winged creatures which would serenade me.

With those hopes in my mind, I fell into dreamless sleep. So tired was I after long days' travel, I did not hear the tramp of orc's footsteps from the depths of the cave. To this day, I do not even recall the swipe made to the back of head, which put an end to any struggles I might have attempted.

000

How much time passed before I woke, I do not know. That my head was hit to keep me subdued, I only surmised from the throbbing at the back of my head, and that I was not in the place I was. Cold metal encircled my wrists, and though I tugged and twisted at the cuffs, I could not pull loose from them.

"Save your energy," a rough voice in the darkness commanded me, and for the first time I noticed exactly how dark it was. No beam of friendly sunlight entered from any wall crack. Completely enclosed in blackness, a sudden panic clutched at me. Who else was there in the darkness?

"They all struggle," a different voice, whispered, but female.

"At least he has not screamed," a third voice, "Unlike some I could name."

"And why do you suppose it is a he?" A second female demanded.

Impatient of being discussed but not included in the discussion, I brusquely snapped, "What is this place?"

A quiet cackle and the latest spoken voice exclaimed, "See; he is man."

The coarse voice which had spoken first came again, and I noted how close it was compared to the others. "What is your name, friend?"

"I asked before you." I wrenched at the shackles again, hoping to find some sort of weakness I was obviously some sort of prisoner, though what these voices wanted of me, I did not know.

"You would do best to cease that tugging, for it will not avail you," the voice to my left informed me. "You have strayed where you ought not to have trod, and the creatures of the deep pits of the Earth have claimed you."

For the first time, I noticed the smell; dung, blood and filth in the stifling air. My voice came out as a snarl. "Orcs."

"Aye, we are captured here as you."

"What for?" I did not know why I believed him so rapidly, but the hopelessness in his voice… It was terrifying but was soon to become all too familiar.

Before anyone responded to the question, I had fear of an answer to, someone I had not heard speak named me. "Estel?"

There was bitter laughter. "So elfie speaks does he?"

I ignored the chuckles and instead tried to place the fluting voice. Then it came to me. "Erelin? Erelin of Imladris, do you speak?"

"So it is you. Aye, Estel it is me. My heart weeps to find you here."

The voice of my long time friend soothed me, though his words were dire. "Erelin, last year, without a word you vanished. Without a word."

Sorrowfully, Erelin informed me. "Not by choice young one, I promise you."

From the far right, a voice informed us, "They are coming."

Erelin's voice became urgent, "Estel, are you and the Prince Legolas still courting?"

"He has long since wooed me. I am his to be married to when I return from this mission." The thought of my beloved warmed me, and staved away the chill of the cold earth beneath me. Yet the fear in Erelin's voice caused me to in turn to fear.

"Think on him. Do not forget him, or your elvish blood will betray you, as it has done me." He spoke so rapidly I could not question him. "Live up to your name. Do not permit them to break you, young one."

The others were silent, and Erelin quieted. I did not want to speak either. I could hear the approach another had now, and for the first time, light flickered in two parallel slits to my right; above and below the door. Raucous orcish laughter and language reached my ears, which I could understand enough of to cause me to fear.

The door opened and blinded by the sudden light as I was, I did not have my wits about me to look around and see the faces of my fellow captives. All I saw was six bulky shapes in the doorway, and then a torch was brandished in front of me, illuminating the pitted tormented face of an orc. "What've we got here?" he asked, in his guttural tone. "Skinny."

"These travellers always are," a second orc professed.

A grimy claw clenched my chin, forcibly turning my face to the light. "It'll do." The scaly skin revolted me and I tugged my chin away from it, thoughts chasing each other rapidly around my mind: they could not be intending to eat us, or Erelin would be gone now.

Summoning my inner courage, I demanded, "Release me, you beast."

The Orc drawled his doubt.

"Because you bring no peasant into your den, and I will be looked for."

"Says ever'one of 'em," the Orc nodded to the others. "But they're still here." There was more laughter, and the Orc turned to the five others. "Outside. I'll get you when it's your turn."

"We'll hear," another cackled.

The torch was removed and all was dark again. I was bemused to hear a clinking of armour from the Orc who remained. I could not see a thing, but presumed this creature of filth who had no love for the sun was not so encumbered.

Hands were on me again, and I tensed at what they might do, however the ripping noise which followed caused me no pain. It took me a moment to realise what was done; that the cold air of every inch of my skin came from me being bore to the world, the rags of my clothes ripped from under me. It was then I realised what they intended to do.

I was flipped onto my stomach, the chains embedded in the wall twisting, and dragged away from the wall. The scrape of rough stone grazed my bare stomach. I wrenched at my bonds, tried to crawl back to the wall, to escape the hands which tugged my legs apart. I kicked out, twisted and struggled with all the strength I had, but the orc merely called for two of him companions. One of these held one of my legs apart each, with vicelike grip. I was little match.

When I felt a blunt heat press against my entrance, I froze.

No.

Not this.

Not even my Legolas had entered me; fingers and tongues had probed, stimulating that little gland within me more than anything felt before, but we had been saving taking each other for our wedding night… It was in four months… I would be marrying my beloved in four months. I had to escape. I had to marry him.

"No, no, no," I forgot any semblance of pride and begged, "Please no. Please!" That was for Legolas! "Ah!" My protests were strangled by the cry which rent my throat as the rock hard rod pushed inexorably into me. With no penetration, I could feel such burning heat. Pain like fire ripping through me, tearing me apart. "No, no!"

I did all I could, I did; I kicked out, but he seemed to enjoy the movement of my body doing its best to escape. I knew that I had clenched around him, the tension doubling the pain, but I couldn't just… accept it.

Ai Valar did it hurt. The Orc began to thrust and in my attempts to restrain my agonised cries, I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. My fingers tore into the earth as my passage was cleaved in two. The panting grunts of the orc above me filled the air, and when his breath hitched, I knew, just knew could I not bear this creature pouring himself into my core.

I kicked out and there was a crack and a cry. It took me a moment to realise it was mine. Pain hit me at the same moment as the realisation; One of those orcs holding my legs, who had, I barely comprehended begun to rut against it, expelling rough groans of impatient pleasure, had snapped me kicking leg in two.

My yowl tipped the orc atop me over the edge and he filled me.

000

I kept resolutely silent as the inevitable occurred, and the other goblins who had waited their turn took it, and left. My eyes were screwed tightly shut, reluctant to see my assailants abuse my fellow prisoners, and equally unwilling to meet the gaze of those who had heard my cries. Yet they did not suffer as I had just done; there was a small scuffle but it did not last long and there was the clank of metal against stone.

And they were gone.

I pulled myself up against the cold stone wall, as if it could offer me some sort of comfort and pulled the dregs of clothing over myself in a somewhat futile attempt to secure some warmth around myself, and protect my shattered modesty. I could feel myself leaking onto the floor; blood and gruesome liquid, and agonising spears of heat shot up my leg each time I shifted.

"I am so sorry Estel." I heard Erelin's voice as if from a great distance, though a haze of hot pain and tears which stung my eyes in an attempt to spill.

"Why did you tell him to fight back? You know it hurts more if you fight back."

"He is nearer to my kind than any other but myself who has suffered these halls; I meant in spirit."

"A pity then you did not explain that. We all heard the crack."

"Was it his arm?"

"His leg. I saw't."

Though I heard the words, the conversation from all directions, I could not listen. All I could feel was humiliation. As Erelin had commanded me, I thought on Legolas, yet all I saw was his disgust. If he saw me like this, crumpled on the floor, used and abused, he would despise me. He would turn his back on me, demand to know why I had allowed this to happen, why I had not fought back hard enough, where the noble human he had expected to marry had gone. No! Not Legolas. Legolas would see a foolish mistake with disastrous consequences, and kiss me, and tell me how he would make it better. If anything could.

"Hush. You will scare him further," the voice next to me said. "All of you can hush. Estel? Was that your name?"

I nodded, appreciating the soft tone from the so coarse a voice: it had a quality of leadership and authority despite its patient wisdom.

There was a quiet laugh. "Lad, if that rustle was you nodding, I can not tell."

"Sorry." No one could see his flush of shame. "Yes. I am Estel."

"I am Dilyed. You know Erelin of course, and the man by the door there, he's Bruthil. Then there are the seven women. Introduce yourself girls, proper like."

There was a chorus of introductions and though at the time, I did not take in the names, I grew to know them well; Tingela, Oonnem, Collel, Carry, Pretha, all young girls, Kiaon who had been there longest and Slyera, the girl to my right, who had not spoken or attempted to communicate since she was first taken. She was continually silent.

There was scraping of wood on metal, and the room was quiet, once names were told, and Dilyed informed me, "At your feet is your dinner."

"I do not want anything." Food could not fill the space inside me.

"Yes you do. Your body is bruised and broken and exhausted, but it needs sustenance because all that is important is that you are alive. Keep it that way."

Erelin decided to impose his view. "If you want Legolas to have anything to marry, you are going to have to eat."

"Do not pressure him," that was Carry's voice.

Kiaon spoke. "You do not want to be ill Estel; bind your leg if you do not want it to set wrong. Then you eat, or they will punish you. You must eat."

Another voice, "Keep up your strength." Pretha's childish voice, only sixteen. Though I was only a decade older than her, she seemed so very young.

It was too much and I snapped out at them. "Just stop talking! Though they were only trying to help me, and I knew this, it was too much. I wanted their voices to stop. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up in a world where my biggest worry was who to invite to my wedding, and which of my brothers was to be my best man.

They quieted and at once I hated that they had done so, the silence was too huge.

000

"Have you ever seen a female orc, Estel?" asked Erelin; I had bound my leg but against the advice of others, ignored the bowl of slop which they informed was food.

"No… I thought they were born of the depts. Of the Earth," I cautiously said.

"They were. They are. But they are still lustful creatures. Few orcs will submit to the violent treatments they prefer, so we must be substitute for that."

"I will not be!" I professed boldly.

Kiaon's low voice informed me, "You just were, Estel."

"They will come for me." I had to fake confidence if I wanted this thought to remain my belief. I was to return to Legolas in three weeks. They knew me. They knew I would not just run from he I adored. He I adore. They would come.

"I hope you are right, mellon nin."

000

Conversation waxed and waned, but the majority of it focused upon me as the newest person in, to explain my life and bring news of the outside world. I was glad of the distraction. I did not think I could bare a silence. Silence brought memory. I wandered how Slyera could live within her silent world, unless it was just that: another world completely. Maybe she was the smartest of we eleven. Despite the pain whenever I shifted position on the cold pain, whilst we spoke, there was some relief. Collel spoke little and when she did, it was in the burbled laughter and mutterings of the insane. The others pitied her. I feared becoming her.

Erelin was particularly appreciative and adored hearing his home tongue again. He admitted to me that he had stormed away from home in anger and had intended to travel a while to recover from the anger. However, whilst he had travelled for well over a month, his journey had reached a most unfortunate end.

"I just want to apologise to her before I die," he brokenly confessed.

"Death will not take you," I was fast to assure, but he admitted that he would not survive more of the rough treatment he experienced. His fae begged to flea. Only the thought of his beloved partner had him secured to life.

"But now you are here, you can tell her I do not hate her. I love her, Estel."

"You will return to her, not I." Seeing him – hearing him rather – so distressed forced me to affirm my hopes. "Eleya has not given up on you. She waits still, has no eyes for another, though she thinks you have left. You will return to her when Elladan and Elrohir find me. And they are the best trackers in this Earth. They will find me, if they have to use each and everyone of the Dúnedain."

"I wish I could have your faith, little one," Erelin's voice was weary.

I could not permit him to become so tired of this life that he would leave. Leave me. To these unfamiliar voices and those brutal hands. "I am named Estel for a reason. You and Eleya will be returned to each other, and you will be invited to my wedding and all shall be perfect."

Even I could tell that I sounded like an innocent child, but it was going to happen. It had to. Erelin had difficulty believing me. "I am broken, Estel. She will not want me now. She deserves more."

"Ancient…" Before I could ask what he meant, Oonem spoke.

"They come again."

I fell quiet with the rest of them.

There were only four of them this time, but they did not come to me. Rather they fell upon three women. Light illuminated the cave and for the first time, I paid attention. Young girls and pretty ones they had chosen, even Kiaon who as far as I could tell had survived this place for a decade. A grunting monstrosity ravaged her, and brutally too, but she was silent, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. I wondered if she thought of a love who would steal her away to the sun one day.

The petite girl at her side had to Pretha, for there was no one else so young and she sobbed as she was attacked, crying out gutturally as the goblin plunged into her again and again. Each time was echoed by her sob.

Next to me, the only noise was the orc's growls of pleasure; he had chosen Slyera whose filthy head of hair showed traces of once being gold. The thrusting demon threw her feeble body about as if she was a doll, and she protested as little as one. I would not have thought her alive had the firelight and glinted off a single tear. When I saw her ears, I had to restrain a gasp; she was elf-kind. No one had mentioned.

I attempted to shoot an accusing glare at Erelin, but when I looked in the direction his voice had come from, I wanted to cry aloud. The strong elf warrior I remembered was little more than grey skin stretched over a rack of bones. His face could barely hold the small smile he shot me, and it even reached his eyes, which once had been so sharp and keen but now were bulbous and pale. Once shining locks, fell ragged dawn his back. One of his legs was skewed awkwardly, broken as mine, and a scarlet scar ran down one side of his face. His body was pitted with a hundred other such injuries but I did not have time to examine them.

An orc reared its head in front of me. "What's this then? A new recruit."

"One of Slâg's," an orc called.

"And not eating his dinner…" The first orc observed and crouched in front of me, his putrid breath washing over me. "Why not eating, dog? Not good enough for you?"

"No, no it's not."

To this day, I do not know why I said it.

I do not know why I said a lot of things I did to my captors. Anger, I suppose. Childish frustration at being in a situation which was beyond my ability to control. No one else would stand up to them.

And I soon found out why now.

000

It was impossible to keep track of time in that light forsaken place in the middle of the Earth. They fed us when there was food and when they remembered. When Pretha died, they tried to feed us. They remembered then. I had three of my ribs broken for refusing to eat that night.

My legs suffered the most; as the only things free, they were the only things I could attack with and therefore snapped more times than I cared to count. Words had a lot of effect too: having once informed an orc what he surely must have known, that he was the most dirt-ugly thing I had ever seen, he informed me very coolly that he was to be the last thing I ever saw. A knife across the eyes rapidly followed.

I refused to plead. I had seen the others submit and beg for the end and was determined not to allow them to see me do the same. When Dilyed died, it was my duty to instil some sort of hope in the others, as they would become shells, husks of beings. Slyera's presence next to me made me determined not to permit that to happen to the others.

Perhaps if the torment had continued, I would have conceded to beg, to ask for release. But after that first time I remained silent during penetration, and attacked them with all I had before and after.

Freedom came one day after I spat at one of the Generals, on his way to Erelin I had grown very accurate in the dark. Practice made perfect. That had made him furious. Yet I was silent as his studded leather belt shredded my back into a thousand scarlet pieces. My hands bled with the force I dug my nails into them – I had long since learnt that distracted pain was better at keeping me silent than most else.

Legolas had chided me more than once for my stubbornness.

At the point where I was seriously beginning to wonder if I would be able to lie on my back in the next month, there was a clattering in the doorway. The general paused.

"What?"

"Attackers."

One word. That was all it took for painfully pure hope to leap in my throat. Please. Please Valar. Be Legolas. Be my love.

Laughter, as hysterical as Collel's tended to be, bubbled from my throat. I needed this to be true. But this den was a rabbit's women, so many twists and turns and so many inhabitants.

"We are not saved yet," Bruthil warned.

"Not yet. But we will be," I replied, somewhat harshly. His depressing thoughts undid much of my hard work to remain positive, but I knew how much he had been through: His wife and daughter had been captured with him and were not more.

"We will see the sun again," enthused Tingela, then immediately corrected herself. "Sorry Estel."

"I am content to feel that warmth, I promise."

There were shouts from down the corridor, the clang of iron against iron, coming closer until…

"Aragorn! Aragorn!"

"Aragorn!"

My name came reverberating off the walls of the caves and when I tried to call out to my elf; I found that my voice failed. It was too used to whispers, for we were not truly permitted to speak.

There was a murmur of confusion, questioning who 'Aragorn' was, until I finally found my voice, and bellowed my husband's name.

A moment later, cautious hands stroked along my skin; my wrists, my cheek, my hair, everywhere Legolas could touch without causing me pain. "Oh love. What have they done to you?" he breathed.

That was him; that was my Legolas' voice. I reached up, searching in the dark for his face. I could feel my hand trembling. I wanted to see him. I wanted to see his beautiful blue eyes. I wanted to see him. My hand encountered smooth cool skin, soft through my hands were no doubt filthy. Hot liquid reached my fingertip and it took a moment for me to understand that it was a tear. "Do not cry, meleth," I pleaded. "You are here. You found me."

A beat, the sound of Legolas swallowing dryly, and the voice so sweet I had almost forgotten it told me. "I will get you and the others out of here. Stay there."

I did not see it necessary to remind him that I had little choice.

His voice had trembled.

000

He carried me out of that hellhole, that sweet elf who loved me, ever so careful and apologetic of each brush and scrape which was inevitable in those tiny tunnels. I had tried to walk myself, but my much abused legs would not support even my reduced weight for more than a few steps. I had known this to be true already: when I knelt for whipping it had to be on my hands and knees, or clinging to the wall by my fingertips to drag myself upright.

From that stinking darkness, which reeked all the more from the scattered bodies which made Legolas' progress slow. Then we come towards a tunnel which led outside: I could feel the rush of cool, clean air and the heat of the sun brushing my cheeks. And it was so good.

Hands careful of my torn back, Legolas lowered me to the floor. There, with grass under me, and Legolas' woollen cloak would around me, enveloping me in heat and his scent, he murmured to me. "Aragorn; you are outside now. You can open your eyes now."

When I told him that I could not, I think it hurt him more than it hurt me.

**A/N: I shouldn't have written this. It was wrong. But I do so two weeks before my first exam because it was more interesting than learning Othello quotes, or how aerobic respiration works or… God forbid… Anything to do with chemistry. Also the Faustus quote "Ugly hell gape not" is my favourite after, "If I had as many souls as stars, I'd give them all for Mephistopheles."**

**Sorry that the fic is fragmentary. My first person stuff always is. So what do you think? More broken!Aragorn angst? Though it might switch POVs…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

To hold him. That was all I wanted. I wanted to hold him until he forgot to fear. I wanted to keep him close in the strong cradle of my arms until the horrors he had suffered dissolved into nothing more than a faraway memory, as if they never existed. But that would not happen, as surely as I knew he would never open his eyes. They would never again be full of the old joy I used to adore in those sparkling silver depths, they would never again seek me out in a room of Nobles and Lords and fix upon me as if there was no one else of import, and smile. His eyes used to be able to smile, even if his lips didn't quirk. The edges of his eyes would crinkle, and light would come to his eyes. That would never happen again, and neither would Aragorn be permitted to forget, when the scars of his torment would not fade.

When I looked to our future, when I once saw joy, I saw only the greys of uncertainty and darkness, and not just for my blinded partner.

He only let me hold him when my arms were the only things connecting him to reality, when nightmares of fifteen lunar cycles in the darkness assuaged him. He would shake, his whole body trembling, and he would cry out, such awful screams, wrenched from a pit deep inside him. Elladan and Elrohir usually took up residence in the room next to us, and were mercifully abroad with the other poor souls we had rescued, but the elf who had been staying on the other side – a Lórien ambassador had requested to move after two nights of the wails. I, wrenched from sleep, had the task of pulling him from them too.

"Aragorn, Aragorn, please wake up." My voice was loud, raised, but it took several tries to tug him from those depths. If I could have, I would have shaken him, but he was not to move violently. He was not to move at all, ideally, but Elrond knew how impossible that was. Little more than a year before, this was a healthy young man, raring to challenge life and the evils and adventures it held. Then I could not even shake him awake from nightly evils.

The cuts on his back from his last flaying were still raw, and too tender to lie upon. Having stared at them for many of the nights, I knew that a few of them wept, oozing the pus of infection. The thin sheets draped around his waist, to avoid getting stuck to the foul liquid, and each time a breeze rushed through the window, he shivered with a chill I could not banish. There was a fire in teh grate, which I had teased to flame several times in the night.

Deep lines of pain were prematurely engraved on his forehead, crumpling it. I wanted to kiss them away.

Finally, he started awake, with a last cry. Sometimes, I still expected his eyes to open and be full of terror, wild. That last shout was my name, and this was the only time he would permit me to hold him, or in any way be close to that. I could place my arm around his shoulders, help him to sit up though he struggled against the touch. I knew part of him was still ensconced in that dreamworld, that memory, and that it was my job to save him. Once was not enough. I had to repeat my actions every night, sometimes multiple times.

"I am here, Aragorn. I am right here," I whispered. "You are safe. You are home."

"It is still so dark," he groaned. His hands found my waist, and held tight, but kept me at a distance. He could not bring himself to pull our bodies close, to allow that much contact.

"I know melda." It was always to be dark for him. In the moment when he emerged from the dream, it was clear he remembered, and he let out a whimper. There was nothing I could do to comfort him, but whisper words of nonsense, which I knew he could not coherently hear above the noise of the sobs.

He would only do that, as far as I was aware, at night. He only let me see that weakness. I knew he thought himself as vulnerable enough in the eyes of others; having to be lifted from place to place, and unable to breathe in another's hold, blind and scarred from vicious abuse. He thought he could feel their pity, and he didn't want it.

I still just wanted to hold him tight, but the nearest I could get was the press of his forehead into my shoulders, as hot tears spilt out from under his eyelids and down my nightshirt.

000

Aragorn fell asleep on my shoulder, and I returned his limp body to the mattress. With gentle touches, holding a handkerchief, I brushed the tears away from his cheeks, for it is a bad omen to fall into sleep with sorrowful tears upon one's skin. When they were clear, I knew well that it was a foolish, vain action, for the waist that could happen near enough had, and the nightmares would not be held at bay.

He turned his face towards me, and the scars I hate the most greeted me, the faint red line I had not wanted to detect the first time I saw it, the line which I know to have been the cause of my love's blindness. Touching the shiny skin lightly, I knew what Elrond had said the day before to be true. Though my future law-father had known for a number of days, indeed a week, since he first examined my love when we first arrived, he had not wanted to tell Aragorn. He had not wanted to say the words, but eventually informed us that Aragorn would not see again.

There had been that incredible hope that he would be able to see those moments of incredible optimism followed by devastating depression and pain upon realisation of reality which had become the norm for me during the months of separation. But at least he was home. He would not leave me again. And maybe we could find a way to flee from the memories at the same rapid pace as we left those caves. Again, I found myself hoping.

000

When Aragorn woke properly, it was much more peaceful than the last, and for that I was intensely grateful. During the first few days, he had asked if it was morning, but soon enough, he recognised the signs; he could hear the birds, feel the morning sun, and even smell the dew freshening the grass. They were sensory stimulants which he had long associated with his elven home, and I could only hope that they comforted him.

"I am sorry for waking you. Again," he sighed, and the noise wrenched at my heart. He was disappointed in himself for something that he had no hope of controlling.

"Do not be foolish. I do not mind." The words are pathetic and I knew that I have no hope of him believing me. He does not do that anymore, I am sure. "I am sorry that you suffer those pains at all."

Aragorn gave a bitter snort, which rapidly turned into a moan of pain as he attempted to roll onto his side. "That is not your fault."

Rather more abruptly than I had intended, for I had instinctively reached to assist him in turning, and restrained myself at the last moment, I replied, "Neither are the dreams your fault I know that you do not intend to wake me. You are not at fault for... for what happened to you."

His voice was that of a defeated man who I could not identify as being of Aragorn, as he replied, "They are all I can see. Every time. My dreams have as good vision as I ever had, but they are all I ever see." He turned his face upwards, towards where he presumed mine to be. "Are they all I will ever see?"

"No." I have said the answer before I have had time to think about it, but known, absolutely, the truth of it. "No. You can not tell me that your imagination and your memory will fail you now, can you?" I asked. I continued, not permitting him the time to answer, I sought to take his hands in mine. They had had calluses for as long as I knew him, from the hands of an adventurous youth, always climbing trees, attempting to keep pace with his more nubile elvish friends, to that of a warrior, used to clasping the handle of a sword. Now they were rougher and more pitted than ever. I could feel the linen bandage which had been wrapped around his broken fingers to try and force them to straighten. Two had had to be rebroken, if Aragorn had wanted use of them again. "I remember the first time I met you, a chubby thing of a half decade, and you asked me for a story. I could think of none, so you gave me one, a tale of purple dragons, and a land with an orange sky – no, it was burnt umber. How a child of those tender years knew such words astonished me – and how you would slay the great King of the Purple Dragons."

"All children have active imaginations. They are pure and... unspoiled." Aragorn's voice hitched on the word. "My creativity is much diminished. As is my memory."

"You remembered that I was in your debt for honey pastries for three and a half years," I reminded him, smiling a little at the image of the impetuous youth in my mind.

"And then I did not see you for a dozen years. I forgot what you look like." Aragorn had gone pale, and suddenly I understood his real concern.

"You will not forget me, Aragorn. I am not going to let you do that. I am going to be right here, reminding you, every day of the rest of our lives." I had already written to Atar, explaining that I did not intend to return home soon, due to the condition of my betrothed, and that I pleaded to be excused the duties of a Prince that I might not be called away from him.

Aragorn seemed determined to protest, and I could not pretend that I was not pleased his stubborn personality remained. "What if I remember you wrong?"

I raised the hands that I held up, so that Aragorn's hands could linger on my cheeks. He did not feel as other blinded people I had met did, and would have dropped away were I not holding them there. "I am right here. At any point in time, you may remind yourself. I will not be offended to find you have forgotten." That was a lie. It would hurt, for a long time. I knew that. But I decided that there were more intense things for me to be concerned about. Such as getting food into Aragorn's skeleton thin body. "Come on. We ought to face the day."

000

I found myself grinning, as I heard the knocking on the door.

"I thought you asked them to leave us alone when it is morning?" Aragorn grumbled at me, as I slipped the second canvas shoe onto his foot.

"I did," I cautiously informed him, "For I know that you do not enjoy rising of a morning, or talking to people before you have shaved and cleaned, however this is special."

"What have you done?"

The dread-filled resignation in my partner's voice dimmed my excitement, and I asked, "Why? Do you not trust me, meleth?"

Aragorn sighed, his non-bandaged fingers tightening on the edge of the mattress he was sat upon. His head hung down, his back hunched, so that his bedraggled hair hung over his harrowed face. I hated to see him so defeated. "I have to trust you, or I would not go anywhere. I have to trust you to take me form place to place, to feed me, to do everything for me including my laces, like a child."

Biting back the hurt his bitter words brought, I gritted my teeth and told him, "Not any more." I left Aragorn where he sat, and made a note to request a stranger pain potion form Elrond. My betrothed would only say such things if he was really hurting. Opening the door, I greeted Erestor and Glorfindel with the widest smile that I could manage.

From Erestor's response, I knew that it had failed. "What ails you, mellon nin?"

"Nothing you could not remedy with this most blessed of gifts," I replied.

Aragorn sat quietly on the bed, not moving to greet his friends, and I wondered if perhaps he was feeling repentant for his words. If he was feeling apologetic, I could be forgiving, even if we did not speak. I could make allowances for his pain, causing him to be loose with his words. Moving back to him, forcing myself to make footsteps thought it felt unnatural, I knelt at my partner's side and placed a hand over his. "Meleth nin, Erestor and Glorfindel have been working hard the past two days to make you this."

"Your Ada has been forced to manage the land by himself. I believe he even decided to send a letter to Lady Galadriel by himself, but sent it with a bird bound for Gondor, eh Erestor?" prompted Glorfindel, ever jovial.

After a moment, Erestor distractedly replied, "Y-yes. Yes he did." Full of pity for him, I gave him an encouraging smile. He was not a being of violence or battle. He much preferred the world of scrolls and dusty tomes. Injuries like Aragorn's were foreign to him, and disturbing. Like many of those I had seen look at my lover, he was uncomfortable being there with him, unsure how to treat him. I had to admit that, at times, neither did I.

"Well?" Aragorn impatiently asked.

I winced at the two advisors, trying my best to convey my apologies for his mood, which changed so rapidly that it made my neck hurt. Erestor nodded his understanding at me, as Glorfindel stepped forwards to explain, "It is a chair. With wheels, so whilst you can not walk, you can still move around."

Erestor added, "We remembered about your back, and have put cushions at the neck and the bottom, so you should not have to touch the back of the chair."

The three of us waited in a tense silence, as Aragorn frowned. After a painfully expectant pause, he reached out a hand. "May I feel it?"

A broad grin spread across Glorfindel's face as he wheeled the chair forwards, and enthused, "It is made of wicker, so ought to be light enough for you to move, and strong enough to take your weight."

"Which is hardly considerable at the moment," Erestor added.

"And there are stops so you can not tilt too far forwards or back," Glorfindel continued.

My Aragorn reached out to touch the present, his hands strayed down the back, examining the wheels which had once belonged to a cart, the plush cushioning for his comfort, and eventually, he gave a small smile. "Thank you, my friends," he murmured.

I had wormed the two of Aragorn's reluctance to be seen as weak, and I believed they too could see through the bravado. Obedient and oddly empathic as ever, Erestor said, "I hope it can help. Will we see you at breakfast?" He cringed at his use of a word relating to the ocular, but Aragorn paid it no attention.

"In a bit," I answered for him.

They said their goodbyes and slipped out of the room. Once we were alone again, I took a seat at his side, thigh determinedly three inches from his. I reached to take his hand, but his hand was limp in mine. "There is still disappointment in you. They know you near as well as I, and I think they could see that."

"Apologies," he mumbled.

"I do not want them, and neither do they. They are just trying to make life a little bit better for you, a tiny bit easier," I informed him. I wanted his old enthusiasm, his glee. I wanted to see happiness sparkle in his eyes. I have always wanted what I can not have; why else fall in love with a human?

After a pause, Aragorn sighed, "I know that." He would not speak his thoughts, but I guessed at them: a gesture such as this could not make fourteen months vanish from his life, and that, really, was what he wanted. "But it is in vain; I can not get in and out of that without help: my own arms will not hold my weight, and once I am in, I would just roll into a wall."

I shrugged. "I happen to have been involved in their organisation, and know that we can get past those things. If you will permit me to help."

His hand tightened in mine, his fingers lacing through my own. "I did not mean what I said. I do trust you, I do. I always have. I trusted that you would come, and rescue me, when all others claimed that was impossible."

"I am never going to desert you," I swore. "And I know how much hope hurts."

Bitterly, Aragorn snarled, "Hope. Estel. If I am the hope for my race, a sorry state we will find ourselves in."

I knew that I could not deny that and merely offered, "Perhaps your father's foresight was wrong. It has been before. It predicted a marriage between you and Arwen for a start."

In a voice full of the heavy intonations of darkness, Aragorn replied, "Well I am not wed yet."

I hissed in hurt, and knew that he heard it, but perhaps he needed to know that his words could still cause me pain. "Please do not say that. I know we have put off our marriage, but I still intend to make you my husband. You..." My words stuck in my throat, for I was unwilling for them to be heard. "You do not have to tell me if you do not feel the same anymore. I know that i was a long time."

Despite my words, I wanted him to reply that, no, he still desired me, and desired us to be wed. That was not to be, and he merely said, "Shall we go to breakfast then?"

The disappointment which washed over me was indescribable, and for an icy second, I was grateful he had lost his vision, for he could not see the tears which welled up in my eyes.

**A/N: I'm just going to leave this here. Bit experimental still, working out where I want this to go.**


End file.
